Chapter 17: The Drop-Off and the Double-Cross
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: MISSION: "OPERATION: STOLEN STINGRAY" – SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: DELIVER PROTOTYPE TO DEAD DROP. CAUTION: POTENTIAL FOR COMPLICATIONS. TRUST NO ONE.]
"Trust no one? System, I barely trust myself not to accidentally walk into a wall after a particularly jarring death," I mumbled, carefully navigating the dense urban sprawl of a major European city. The "Stingray" prototype was secured in a specially shielded backpack, its faint hum a constant reminder of the $100 million prize. My "Advanced Tactical Awareness" was on high alert, scanning for tails, anomalies, anything out of place.
The dead drop location was a seemingly innocuous, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, specified by the system. It was supposed to be a simple hand-off. But nothing in my life was ever simple. Especially not when a hundred million dollars was on the line. And especially not when the system explicitly warned me to "trust no one."
"Alright, Adam, this is where things get dicey. Black market dealings always involve a certain level of betrayal. And when alien tech is involved, that level goes from 'dicey' to 'you're probably going to get shot. Again.'"*
I approached the warehouse, using my "Basic Parkour" to traverse rooftops and alleyways, avoiding main streets. My "Basic Espionage Mastery (Limited)" helped me detect the subtle signs of a trap: a freshly painted graffiti tag that wasn't there yesterday, a faint scent of ozone that suggested recent energy weapon use, the unnatural silence.
"Well, well, well," I whispered to myself. "Looks like someone's planning a party. And I'm guessing I'm the piñata."
I didn't walk straight in. Instead, I used my "Wall-Crawling" to scale the side of the warehouse, finding a high window that offered a vantage point. Inside, I saw them. Not the single contact I expected, but a small team. Heavily armed. And definitely not friendly. They were setting up an ambush.
"Classic. The 'let's take the goods and kill the delivery boy' routine. Gentlemen, you're dealing with an immortal delivery boy. This is going to be a very frustrating day for you."*
My "Advanced Tactical Awareness" quickly mapped out their positions, their lines of fire, their escape routes. They were good, but they weren't expecting an immortal, sarcastic, wall-crawling delivery boy.
I decided to play along, at least initially. I dropped down from the window, making a deliberate amount of noise. Their heads snapped towards me, weapons raised.
"Alright, boys, who's ready for some alien tech?" I called out, holding up the backpack. "I've got your Stingray right here. Freshly stolen, still humming with that delightful cosmic energy. Just needs a good home. And maybe a little recharging. It's been a long trip."
The leader, a grim-faced man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward. "Hand it over, civilian. And then you can walk away. We won't make this difficult."
"Oh, I'm sure you won't," I said, a mischievous grin playing on my lips. "But I'm afraid I have to decline. You see, I've got a system that explicitly told me to 'trust no one.' And frankly, your 'we won't make this difficult' line is a little cliché. You could try 'we'll give you a cookie and a lifetime supply of artisanal cheese,' that might be more convincing."
His eyes narrowed. "You're a smartass."
"It's one of my many charms," I replied, shrugging. "Along with my immortality, my uncanny ability to find alien junk, and my surprisingly good taste in Hawaiian shirts. Though, I'm not wearing one today. Missed opportunity, I know."
That was their cue. They opened fire. A hail of bullets ripped through the air. I didn't even try to dodge. This was a calculated risk. I needed them to confirm their hostile intent. And I had two lives against them.
The bullets tore through me. Pain, sharp and immediate, flared. Darkness.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DEATH DETECTED. KILLER: UNIDENTIFIED MERCENARY LEADER (IDENTIFICATION: 'SCARFACE' VLADIMIR). SKILL ACQUIRED: BASIC WEAPON DISARMAMENT.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: IMMORTAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED. YOU HAVE 1 LIFE REMAINING AGAINST 'SCARFACE' VLADIMIR.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: MISSION: "OPERATION: STOLEN STINGRAY" – PROGRESS: 75%.]
I gasped back to life, my body convulsing, the phantom bullet holes still aching. Basic Weapon Disarmament? Now that was a useful skill! I felt an intuitive understanding of how to quickly and efficiently disarm an opponent.
The mercenaries stared, their faces a mixture of shock and terror. Their leader, 'Scarface' Vladimir, looked like he'd seen a ghost. A very annoying, very resurrected ghost.
"Well, that was rude," I said, pushing myself up, brushing off imaginary dust. "A little trigger-happy, aren't we? And here I thought we were going to have a civilized discussion about profit margins and the ethics of double-crossing an immortal. Clearly, I overestimated your conversational skills."
Before they could react, I moved. My "Basic Reflexes (Minor Improvement)" and newly acquired "Basic Weapon Disarmament" kicked in. I darted forward, a blur of motion. I grabbed the nearest mercenary's assault rifle, twisted it out of his hands with surprising ease, and then, with a flick of my wrist, disassembled it into its component parts. The magazine clattered to the floor, the barrel spun away, the stock flew off. The mercenary stared at his suddenly useless weapon, then at me, his jaw agape.
"See?" I said, holding up a handful of gun parts. "Much more civilized. Now, about that Stingray..."
I launched into a chaotic, one-man assault. I wasn't trying to kill them; I was trying to disarm and disorient them. I moved too fast, too unpredictably. I disarmed one, then another, their weapons falling apart in my hands. My "Basic Intimidation (Mild Effect)" was working wonders, making them hesitate, making them question their sanity.
'Scarface' Vladimir, realizing he was dealing with something utterly beyond his comprehension, yelled, "Fall back! Fall back! He's a freak!"
They scattered, leaving their disassembled weapons and their shattered composure behind. I picked up the "Stingray" backpack.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: MISSION: "OPERATION: STOLEN STINGRAY" – OBJECTIVE COMPLETE. REWARD PENDING.]
"That's right, run!" I yelled after them, holding up the Stingray. "And tell your boss that Adam Stiels doesn't appreciate being double-crossed! And also, tell him I said his fashion sense is terrible!"
I quickly made my way to the actual dead drop location, a small, hidden compartment under a loose brick in a nearby wall. I placed the Stingray inside, activated a small beacon, and then melted back into the shadows.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: REWARD DISBURSED. CURRENT FINANCIAL STATUS: $152,789,123. SYSTEM EXPERIENCE POINTS: +500.]
"One hundred million dollars," I whispered, a wide, triumphant grin on my face. "And a new skill. This is the life. Now, about that Yelena situation..."